


A Ghost Story

by what_a_dork_fish



Series: Cheriks [12]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Ghosts, curious ghostie Charles, does it count as major character death if one of them is already a ghost?, ghost hunter Erik, the angst is mostly later...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-25 03:20:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12027009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_a_dork_fish/pseuds/what_a_dork_fish
Summary: For a prompt on tumblr: "Erik is a ghost hunter and Charles is a lonely little ghost who haunts the Xavier mansion and who just wants to be friends."





	A Ghost Story

**Author's Note:**

> I could be persuaded to write another chapter if that were requested of me.

Erik entered the mansion and closed the door firmly behind him, locking it very deliberately. He’d already been through with his crew, testing the usual suspects, but Ms. Darkholme’s restorers were top notch, and everything was perfectly sound.

There was no reason to hear the creak of footsteps above their heads when the floors were fixed. There was no way a breeze could’ve closed those doors (closed, gently, politely, instead of slammed). There was no explanation for the tea steeping on the kitchen table, waiting for the crew. The nicest ghost Erik had ever encountered. 

Ms. Darkholme had demanded to stay the night with him, stating that the ghost must be her deceased brother, but Erik had out-argued her. So many people had died here, it was impossible to tell whose ghost it was. Best to be careful.

Ms. Darkholme had glared like a basilisk, but backed down. Erik still didn’t trust that she wouldn’t come back, though. So his first order of business was to go around making sure every door and window on the ground floor was locked. They were, of course. Of course they would be.

Erik decided to set up in the least-dusty sitting room. He set up his cameras and recorder and laptop, then unrolled his sleeping bag on the floor. He turned away to search his backpack for his flashlight–

The rustle of polyester made him whip around. The sleeping bag was now on the couch, with one of the throw pillows set thoughtfully at the head.

Erik took a deep breath and steadied, glad he had turned on the cameras before doing anything else. “Thank you,” he said awkwardly.

Silence. He shrugged and went back to unpacking.

Finally, he was set up. He turned on the recorder, cleared his throat, and said, “Hello. My name’s Erik.”

Silence.

“I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to know what you want, what’s keeping you here.”

Nothing.

Erik frowned. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“ **Charles** .”

His eyes widened and his head snapped up, twisting from side to side–but there was no visual manifestation. But that voice, it had been so clear, so strong…

“Can you show yourself?” he asked carefully.

“ **Unfortunately, no** .” Was Charles actually  _ regretful _ ? “ **Would you like some tea?** ”

“Um.” Well, why not? “Yes, thank you.”

The door opened, and there was the sound of eager footsteps passing through and away, down the hall. Erik stared, surprised. Ghosts usually didn’t bother with doors or footsteps unless they wanted to scare people. But Charles wasn’t a usual ghost, was he?

While he waited, Erik picked up his notebook and jotted down his thoughts and suspicions. Didn’t Ms. Darkholme say her brother’s name was Charles? It could be a family name…

A tea-tray floated through the door. On it was a teapot, a cup and saucer, a sugar bowl, and some Oreos.

“ **There is, unfortunately, no milk,** ” Charles’ disembodied voice explained, almost apologetically, as the tray set gently on the table before Erik. He watched, fascinated, as the teapot rose and poured a perfect cup. “ **How much sugar?** ”

“One, please,” Erik murmured, and the spoon rose to scoop out the perfect scoop of sugar and stir it into the tea. The cup and saucer rose, and Erik took them with a murmured thank you, because he was raised to be polite. The tea tasted a little stale, but not moldy, and the water was clean.

“ **Do you like Oreos? They’re the only biscuits Raven will keep in the house, even though they don’t go with tea.** ” Charles actually sounded offended, and Erik had to smile slightly.

“I like them just fine,” he assured Charles, picking up an Oreo and taking a bite. Also stale, but only a little. “Thank you.”

“ **You’re welcome.** ”

Erik had never been prone to self-consciousness, but the silence made him feel… awkward. He frowned a little.

“So, what  _ is _ holding you here?” he asked the chair across from him, for lack of a better object. “Do you know?”

“ **I have no idea.** ” Another pause, then, more timidly, “ **If you’re staying the night, you can stay in one of the guest rooms.** ”

Erik blinked, thought about it. “No, thanks. I’m fine here.”

“ **Okay.** ”

Erik got the impression Charles was disappointed for some reason. So he set down his teacup and cookie and said, “I wouldn’t mind a tour, though, please.”

“ **Oh! Yes! A tour! What a lovely idea!** ” If Charles had had a corporeal body he would have leapt eagerly to his feet. “ **Come with me!** ”

Erik stood, and felt a warm grip wrap firmly around his wrist. He stared, but he only had a moment to be startled before the grip yanked him towards the door.

Charles towed him through the halls and up the stairs, and then began the tour.

“ **This is the room where Uncle Boris used to stay before Father died, I don’t like it, it still smells like cigars, even with all the work done–and this one is the one where we put overnight guests that we didn’t like very much because it’s haunted by Auntie Gertrude, she’s not malicious, she’s just noisy–and this is my favorite guestroom, I used to sleep here when I had nightmares, it’s the wallpaper I think, a very nice blue–and this one—** ”

Erik got a short description and summary of each room, dragged from doorway to doorway by the warm grip on his wrist. Ghosts were supposed to be cold, but Charles was skin-warm. And Erik realized that the guestrooms were not Charles’ goal.

His goal was the upper stories.

They reached the stairs, and Charles slowed to let Erik hop up the steps at his own pace instead of tripping in Charles’ haste. That was kind of him. Erik found himself warming to this ghost. He seemed so earnest and genuine.

Charles told him about everything, and showed him so many secrets, and Erik felt a stirring of pity, for this lonely young man. He just wanted someone to talk to. Someone to be friends with.

And then they reached the attic, and Charles abruptly stopped and went quiet. Erik took a moment to catch his breath, then asked, “Charles? Are you alright?”

“ **…I died up there.** ”

Erik froze.

“ **I don’t remember how. I was just… just looking for some books, and… and…** ”

Erik reached over with his free hand and put it over the warmth of Charles’ grip. Was that a bit of resistance? “You don’t haven’t to tell me about it, Charles,” he murmured.

Warmth pressed against his side, as if Charles was leaning against him.

“ **Let’s go downstairs again,** ” Charles whispered.

“Alright.”

~

 

They spent some of the night talking. Erik told Charles about his own family home; a small two-bedroom ramshackle house in Germany, that Vati and Mama had always been fixing–and Erik too, once he was old enough. They’d never had the money to move, since it all went into keeping the roof whole. Charles was fascinated, but not in the pitying way of most rich people; no, he was interested in Erik’s family dynamics, in how they worked together and loved each other, in the way Erik smiled when he remembered his parents.

“ **You have a nice smile,** ” Charles whispered, when Erik finished recounting the time his rich aunt had been horrified by a spider that Mama coolly smushed beneath her shoe.

Erik immediately stopped smiling. “Most people say it’s scary,” he replied gruffly.

“ **Most people say ghosts are scary,** ” Charles countered. “ **But some of us aren’t. And your smile isn’t scary.** ”

Erik resisted the urge to scowl. He felt a warmth on his knee, as if a hand rested there. He blinked; he’d been talking to the chair again, but it might be that Charles was sitting next to him. His voice was funny, sounding almost as if from everywhere, sometimes louder, sometimes quieter, but always from ever corner. Why would Charles sit next to him?

“ **Oh! I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to presume–** ” The warmth lifted quickly.

“No, it’s alright, Charles,” Erik found himself saying, and marveling at the fact that it  _ was _ alright. “Can you… do you think there’s a way for you to be visible?”

A pause, as Charles considered this. “ **Well… I suppose… if we find my wheelchair, I suppose I might be able to be visible.** ”

“Wheelchair?” Erik asked blankly.

“ **Raven didn’t tell you?** ” Charles sounded almost hurt. “ **I was in a wheelchair before I… before I died. An accident when I was younger.** ”

“Oh. No, she didn’t tell me.” Erik stood and brushed his hands off briskly. “Right. Where would it be?”

“ **I don’t know. It was a folding one, so it could be in any of the closets. You search down here, and I’ll go upstairs.** ” A warmth wrapped around him, as if Charles was hugging him, which was very strange indeed, since Erik hadn’t been hugged since Mama died. “ **I hope you’re not disappointed,** ” Charles said, and with that cryptic statement, he was gone.

Erik frowned a little, then shrugged and went looking for a folded wheelchair.

He didn’t find it on the first floor. He was about to go up the stairs when the front door creaked open.

He whirled, and stared as Ms. Darkholme stepped through.

“I said not to come,” he told her flatly, feeling… disappointed. He’d wanted to spend the night alone with Charles. Get to know him better.

Ms. Darkholme clicked on a red-tinted flashlight and pointed it at Erik. “Well, too late,” she replied in clipped tones, “I did come and I want to know if you’ve seen my brother.”

“Seen him? No.” Erik deliberated, then sighed. “Go to the sitting room where we set up last, and listen to the tape. Watch the videos on my laptop. Maybe you’ll see or hear something.”

Ms. Darkholme’s face lit up, and she closed and locked the door before hurring down the hall.

Erik continued up the stairs.

“Charles?” he called softly, padding down the hall. “Charles, Raven is here, and–”

A warm palm slapped against his mouth, and he froze. Charles was becoming more and more solid, though he remained invisible.

“ **No,** ” Charles whispered, “ **I don’t want her to see me.** ”

“Why not?” Erik whispered back, bewildered. “She’s your sister.”

“ **Because… because…** ” The warmth against his mouth retreated. Charles sounded confused, and afraid. “ **I don’t… I don’t know. I just don’t want her to see me like this.** ”

“What, dead?”

“ **No, I… you’ll see. Come on. I haven’t found it yet.** ” 

So Erik followed the tug on his wrist, bewildered, and they climbed the stairs, searching each floor together.

When they got to the stairs to the attic, Erik took a deep breath and said, “I’m going up there.”

“ **Don’t,** ” Charles hissed desperately, tugging Erik’s sleeve, “ **Please, please don’t.** ”

“What if it’s up there? I have to look.”

“ **Then I have to go with you.** ”

“Not if it hurts you.”

A pause. And then Charles whispered, “ **You don’t want me hurt.** ”

Erik found himself turning pink. “Well, no. I said when I came here I wasn’t going to hurt you,” he muttered.

Warmth wrapped around him again, Charles hugging him. And now Erik could definitely feel a form, shorter than him by about a head, strong and stocky.

“ **Please be careful,** ” Charles mumbled.

“I will,” Erik murmured, carefully putting his arms around the invisible form that was Charles.

A sigh, and the warmth pulsed even warmer, before Charles pulled away, and Erik’s arms passed right through him. Erik dropped his hands, hid his disappointment, and climbed the stairs.

The attic door was unlocked. He opened it and stepped inside.

And there it was, folded and leaning against some dusty boxes; a wheelchair with a metal X attached to the side. Erik smiled, and, walking over, inspected it carefully before picking it up. Nothing happened. He walked to the door. Nothing. He left the attic and closed the door behind him. Nothing.

It was all very anticlimactic.

But Charles actually  _ squealed _ in delight when Erik reached the landing and unfolded the chair. Without further ado, it was whisked away from Erik, and Charles sat in it.

He knew he did, because Charles suddenly became visible, with a flare like a match lighting.

His clothes were bloody. There were stab wounds in his chest and stomach, eight in total. And there was a mark like something had strangled him. But that didn’t matter, Erik had seen far scarier. It was Charles’ face that was most arresting; he was smiling, beaming, at Erik. A ruddy mouth, pale skin, bright blue eyes, chestnut hair. His body looked just as it had felt, short and slightly squishy, but still with a firm shape to it. He was adorable.

“ **You can see me!** ” Charles cried, “ **I knew–** ”

“Charles?”

Charles and Erik looked down the hall, and Ms. Darkholme was there, a hand over her mouth and tears in her eyes.

“Charles?” she squeaked again.

“ **Raven,** ” Charles replied, and there was so much love in his tone…

Darkholme gave a little sob, and ran forward, reaching, and Charles reached too–but Darkholme’s hands passed right through Charles, and she actually did start crying, though she didn’t bawl. Charles looked equally distressed, his fingers trying to close on hers and just passing through again.

“ **I never should have done this,** ” he said, eyes misting silver with ghost-tears. “ **I never should’ve–I’m sorry, Raven, I’m so sorry.** ”

She twisted her trembling lip into a tremendous scowl. “You need to stop apologizing,” she snapped. “It’s not your fault that–that–” the scowl fell away, and she sniffed hard. “I miss you,” she croaked.

“ **I miss you too,** ” Charles whispered.

Erik decided to give the siblings some time alone, and quietly snuck away down the hall to the stairs.

It was late. He was exhausted. He went all the way down to the ground floor and entered the sitting room. Nothing had moved. He flopped down on the couch, sighed heavily, and fell asleep almost at once.

~

He woke because something was touching his hair. Fingertips, running through it.

“Wha?” he grunted, turning his head. The touch vanished. “No, more. ‘S nice.”

So the touch returned, tentatively. He sighed and fell asleep again.

~

Now that he knew there was a real ghost, Erik’s next order of business was to find out what was holding him here.

When morning came, Erik opened his eyes to see Charles’ wheelchair, empty, by the couch. From this Erik inferred that Charles had been the one running fingertips through Erik’s hair. How could he do that? He was just a ghost.

“ **Raven is making breakfast, since I always burn things,** ” Charles’ voice said. “ **It should be done soon.** ”

Erik nodded, rubbing his eyes, and sat up.

It wasn’t as odd as he’d expected, sitting at the kitchen table with Darkholme, listening to her and Charles talk, even though one of them was invisible. Erik finished his pancakes and was reaching for the spatula for more when suddenly the spatula was snatched away, lifted two pancakes, and set them on Erik’s plate. Then the butter was pushed towards him.

“Thanks,” he said automatically, then looked up sharply as Darkholme stifled a snort. She smiled slyly, but kept eating.

“ **Don’t you dare!** ” Charles gasped.

“Do what?” Erik asked, bewildered.

“ **Not you, Erik, you’re per–um, fine. Raven is scheming.** ” That last was said with great suspicion.

“Am not,” Darkholme answered sedately, though she was still smirking. Then she looked at Erik and asked bluntly, “Are you going to banish him or whatever?”

“No, of course not,” Erik answered, surprised–and then he frowned, wondering at himself. He always helped ghosts pass. Why didn’t he want to help Charles cross?

“ **Oh, good,** ” Charles chirruped happily. “ **I don’t want to leave y–here.** ”

Darkholmes snickered, then yelped as her glass of orange juice tipped over on her plate, ruining her pancakes. “Cha-rllles!”

A faint, triumphant chuckle was the only answer.

Erik, still confused, watched dumbly.

After breakfast, he reviewed his footage. It was hard to tell at times, but occasionally there was a shape to be seen in the film. It was human in shape, and it glowed faintly. There wasn’t much detail. That was fine. He had proof that Charles had been with him. That was good enough.

He frowned as Charles’ shape sat beside Erik on the couch, almost but not quite touching him. That was… odd. But he dismissed it as curiosity. Ghosts were usually curious, when they weren’t deadly. And Charles seemed to really like Erik’s company. Well, Erik liked Charles’ company too. He was a good person. Ghost. He was dead. Not really a person anymore.

That annoyed Erik more than it should’ve.

“ **Why are you frowning so hard?** ”

He didn’t even jump. “No reason,” he replied absently, “Just… well… do you  _ want _ to know why you’re still here?”

A considering pause. “ **…No. No, I like not knowing,** ” Charles said eventually. “ **I like knowing that no one else knows, either. I don’t want to leave.** ”

“Are you afraid?”

“ **Of crossing? No.** ”

“What’s it like? Being dead?”

“ **Like sleeping. For a long, long time, it’s just sleeping. Then you wake up, and it’s like… it’s like…** ” Another pause as Charles searched for the words. Erik waited patiently. “ **It’s like a lucid dream. It nearly drove me mad in the beginning, until Raven came home.** ”

“You love her a lot.”

“ **She’s my sister, and my only friend.** ”

Erik must’ve still been half-asleep, because that was his only explanation for asking, “Can  _ I  _ be your friend?”

Warm, invisible fingers wrapped around his hand. “ **I’d like that, please.** ”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments = Love, Life, and Happiness


End file.
